


Again

by jellyfish_spine



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, blood tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 07:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10714824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfish_spine/pseuds/jellyfish_spine
Summary: Growing up doesn't happen overnight.





	Again

David watched from the press box as Pasta got called for senseless penalty late in the third. He watched the defeated slump of shoulders as Pasta sat in the box. From behind the glass, or up in the press box, both of them were too far away to be any use to the rest of the team.

*

David wrung his water bottle in his hands, answered media questions quickly and with no detail. He’d been knocked out of the playoffs before. He’d sat in the penalty box and watched the clock tick down into a regulation loss. But Pasta hadn’t. The sting of being eliminated was deep, being injured with no way to contribute gnawed away at him in the middle of the night. But those deep aches were nothing compared to Pasta silently walking out of the locker room, avoiding eye contact, shutting him out.

Pasta didn’t say a word when David met him at the car. He sat in silence the entire ride back to David’s. Didn't even grunt into response to any of David's condolences.

Pasta spoke as David began climbing out of the car, one hand on the open door, “You’re not taking me home?” His words held frustration, and his eyes held a youthful destructive fire.

“This is your home, for tonight”. David left, shutting the door behind him, willing to let Pasta sit and stew in his emotions. He had grown up so quickly right before David’s eyes – transformed from the gawky teen who lost his passport into an electric forward who would will perfect plays into existence. At the end of the day, he was still a kid who had never been eliminated from the playoffs.

David kicked off his shoes at the door, making his way through the house in his sock feet, fingers dialing Milan’s number before he could think to do it. The last time they had been knocked out, Milan had been there, known just what to say, known just how to rake his fingers through David’s hair and press kisses to his temples. Milan had known how to keep them both grounded, how to keep them both calm. Now? Milan was moving on without him, moving forward without him.

Lucic answered fast, like he had been waiting by his phone.

The pair sat in silence, what was there to say? I’m sorry. For what? For not being there? For everyone being injured and letting their nerves get the best of them? All David really wanted, was a firm embrace and to be told how to help Pasta.

Milan spoke first, “Have you tried talking to him?”

“He won’t speak to me, Looch, he won’t even look at me”, David sighed into the phone, letting a hurt wash over him that he hadn’t expected.

The front door slammed shut, Pasta stomped through the hall and slammed his way into the bathroom. David could hear him rifling through the cabinets and drawers.

“He just needs time, you can’t force him to feel better”.

“He blames himself.”

“How many times did you blame yourself?”.

“He was the one in the box, Milan.” It felt like a brick was sitting in his gut, pressing into everything he knew. Milan was too far away. Pasta was close but felt like he was in another world. And his hip hadn’t stopped aching in weeks. “I’ve gotta go”.

David hung up. The _I love you_ was cut off, left for another phone call at a different time. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, not for Pasta’s first playoff. They were supposed to create magic on the ice, read each other with eyes closed. David wanted to hand the Cup off to Pasta - he wanted it so bad he could feel the weight of the Cup in his hands and feel Pasta's smile in his core. 

The muffled shout from down the hall pulled David from his _what ifs_.

Pasta was clutching his chin when David walked in. A cheap razor thrown on the counter, sink full of a patchy playoff beard.

David pulled Pasta’s hands away,to reveal a short  cut across Pasta’s chin, a sign of the haphazard hacking Pasta had attempted.

Pasta kept his eyes averted as David dug out the first aid kit, tried to hide the sting from David dabbing at the would with the alcohol.

“You’re going to live”. David pressed the two sides of the cut together and laid a bandage over top.

Pasta moved to grab the razor, to finish off what was left, “No, let me”.

Pasta was growing up, and really didn’t need David, not in the same way he had when he first arrived. He wasn’t a star struck rookie anymore, but David still needed him. He needed someone to depend on him, to look to him for advice or even just someone to turn to.

David took the razor, ran it under the faucet and began shaving Pasta’s face. Long fluid strokes, tilting Pasta’s chin this way and that way until there was no more beard. He rinsed the razor out, grabbed a dry wash cloth, and wiped away the left over shaving cream, silently joyous at the opportunity to take care of someone. David looked at Pasta then, and he was crying - big, hot tears streaming down his face, “I can’t do anything right”.

“My love,” David pulled him in, wrapping Pasta in a firm embraced, holding them both down. He could feel the tears soaking through his shirt. David ran his hands through Pasta’s hair, pressing small kisses to his temples, just like Milan had done so many times before. “My dear, it’s going to be you and me next year. We’re going to go all the way. We’re going to do it together”.

**Author's Note:**

> Updated for my own sake - I may or may not have been projecting at the end of last season. But we all know Krejci would lasso the moon for Pasta if he could.


End file.
